


For all the effort

by Hollow_Vessel



Series: Tossed Aside [1]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Crying, Death, Dread, Dreaming, Fluff, Gen, Lasers, Nightmares, OW, Pain, Phantom pain, The Almighty Tallest Being Assholes (Invader Zim), Zim cares about GIR, emotions stuff, he has a different backstory here, headcanons, non-canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-14 11:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20600138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollow_Vessel/pseuds/Hollow_Vessel
Summary: Zim isn’t having the best time on Urth, or in life. He has GIR and sweets to cope, but how much can one defective Irken take before all is lost?





	1. ...

**Author's Note:**

> Split into two so that I may get some rest.

Decades of wasted effort loomed heavily on the Invader’s shoulders. It all lay in waste and ruins. He sighed softly, watching through a screen as another filthy Urth day passed by him. His magenta eyes darted towards the ceiling. Metal wires and tubing crisscrossed it erratically.

The creaking of machinery mocked him. Shifting machines working through their tasks without error and without effort. His computer AI keeping his base in working order, carrying out tasks with minimal sounds. Zim could hear them, however. Through damaged antennae, but he could still make out the clicks and groans of metal. No matter the time, it drew on. Over and over and over and over again... Zim stuck his tongue out in thought. It would be another late night of scheming, scheming to complete his newest and latest mission. The conquering of Urth. He had to. It would be his only success, and then the Tallest would finally validate him. Validate Zim for all of his struggles and shortcomings.

... ... ...

No ideas, none that were any good at least, crossed his mind that night, or the next day for that matter. It was all dookie. Nothing made sense, the pieces were refusing to slot together in his mind and PAK. It was exhausting. Days in and days out, the thinking and formulating of plans hurt his aching head.

The Invader's eyes tiredly drooped. They felt heavy. HE felt heavy. Zim stumbled for his sleep pod and fell into it, hard. He closed the door and the inner lights clicked off automatically. A soft breath escaped his maw.

Zim absentmindedly tugged a blanket towards himself as he curled up, ready for a few hours of rest. Maybe, say, 12? Maybe more... He felt safe in doing this. His computer would alert him to any intruders, and that combined with the fact that he was deeply underground, Zim was safe. And he worked better with rest, even if he didn’t need it...

He did need to sleep, in actuality. He lied to deny the fact and simply said that it bolstered his already AMAZING invading powers. Sleeping only made it easier for him to process thoughts and ideas, emotions as well, and made it easier for retrieve memories, nothing more than that. It was sheerly for utility, he wasn’t like he was some defective who depended on a weekly sleep, not Zim.

Irkens did not dream. Not in the ordinary, filthy human way, at least. His dreams were not much like human dreams at all. They were memories that played over and over again at random as his PAK sorted them and tried to find better solutions to old issues, showing him more solutions and problem solving aspects, overall making Zim a better invader. That was the intention of this design, and Zim was thankful for this. His hindsight was always better than his present sight, Zim thought. While he knew that his in the moment decisions were impeccable, he knew that his PAK was HIM, and that HE could listen to HIMSELF. Overall, it was ingenious.

Of course it had its many, great uses, when it wasn’t tormenting him, that was.

\---

Zim finds himself on the battlefield again. He’s wearing his power armor, the ones trainees use. The Irken is helpless as he follows the red marching ants like in front of him. It commands him, he follows it like he followed it that day. His goal line, he called it. It would lead him to victory.

It was this bright red thing... It was always present, ever so tempting. When he didn’t know what to do (RARELY), he would look to the line for guidance.

And for his loyalty to it, it never provided Zim with anything short of a good scolding, or at worst, a banishment. The worst of the line's crimes.  
He couldn’t help it though. He only wanted to be the best- surely such a sign was a good one.  
As he thought of his plans, he could see it. Unfolding in front of him, the plan already calculated. His PAK knew where to go. He would follow.

Zim thanked Irk for their standard issue ocular implants and plotted. If he could, say, fly one of the fleet ships by himself, without an instructor, they would be so impressed that he would have to receive higher marks. It sounded logical. It WAS logical, his PAK reminded him so. He marched along the line, eyes forward, antennae lowered. He was prepared. The line said so. He could. He WOULD do it.

...Zim hates this memory. He wakes up in a sweat, phantom pains of burning and crushed bone coursing through him with such fire. Such painful flames, searing and licking at his flesh. The safety of his sleeping chamber beginning to feel less safe- a cage for him. The memory was a popular one. The red line he had seen had always led him down a different path. But it always ended the same. Screaming. Of rage, of fear, of pain and stress. He trashed in his bed, fighting down tears and screams of his own.

He fought to calm the conflicting signals from his PAK. It buzzed and beeped with the effort. Zim flailed and shouted, volume muffled with blankets. He was NOT burning anymore. It was alright. He was okay. NOT BURNING! Not.. not, broken...

His breathing grew raspy as the pain continued, red light dancing in his eyes. Zim desperately wiped away his tears, but he couldn’t help the sobs he emitted. It burned. His head, his limbs, torso. Why did this have to hurt so badly each and every time?....  
Thank Irk the sleep chambers were sound proofed. No one would... Hear...

Thank Irk...  
Zim couldn’t deal with GIR discovering him like this.

The pains ebbed away at the thought of his robotic companion, surprising the invader. His antennae twitched slightly, then he rested his eyes and thought about GIR. How they would share snacks and talk about the humans. Even if the conversations usually grew one sided, with Zim ranting to the robot about his woes, it still felt nice.

It settled something deep within him, quieting his frazzled mind. To empty the words that bounced around until they drove him mad. Mad with rage, mad with anger and memories and thoughts and-... Zim simply thought about it. The nature of these talks.  
How sometimes, Zim and GIR would just sit together. Ignoring each other was the norm, but sometimes the Irken would take GIR’s hands and stare into the vacant eyes of their robotic... Friend. How soft he was, and little and innocent and listening and.

It was oddly placating to the invader. He wondered if GIR thought about things, in that little messed up bunch of coding. Was there anything behind his eyes? Anything complex, something that wasn't simply gibberish to be pushed through the faulty filter that was his mouth?... Maybe.

Zim could feel his heart rate lower to more bearable levels, his breathing growing quieter and more suited for the small space he was in. The edges of it that seemed to be pressing in on him were now away, providing a safe barrier from the outside world once more, no longer a cage for him. The claws of it retreated from him. He could relax.

Zim readjusted his blankets, stretching in the now spacious pod and sighing in relief. No longer did the phantom pain of time already passed plague him. How thankful he was for it. His PAK felt hot on his back with the effort and stress it had caused. He could feel its buzz from overuse.

Zim could feel the top of the pod with his antennae as he resettled in the “nest” he had subconsciously created in his blankets. It was so warm, so comfortable and small. Perfect for him. A nest to rest in, brew his evil ideas inside. His thoughts buzzed around, though calmer now. Like subdued wasps who had succumb to the slumbering, dulling properties of smoke. At least to them... The buzzing gave no useful thoughts to the invader. Oh how tired he grew... 

The invader fell victim to sleep once more...

...

...

...Comfortable.

“**INCOMING TRANSMISSION!**” A booming voice filled the insides of the sleep chamber, blasting the secluded space and causing the sleeping invader to shout and leap up in alarm. THUD.

He yelled again at this, cursing as a pounding headache began forming, radiating out from where he had hit his head. Panic clawed from within him. The sound, too loud, too loud, his head was buzzing with the remnants of it. He could feel it bouncing around in the chamber, despite it not. The vibrations of shoving such a loud sound into a small space... Oh how it hurt. His antennae felt like a tuning fork that someone had slammed into a table. Something. IT HURT...

“W-WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” He shouted in question of the sound, gripping the sides of his head with a hand and using a foot to press the open button on the chamber. The doors slid open, releasing the wall of body heat that had built up from his slumbering and self-warming blanket.

Zim slipped out woozily, but still with much anger lurking beneath the surface.  
He hated when his "naps" were interrupted. Usually, though, it was by GIR opening the pod while he rested. It was never the computer... Wait, what had he said..? Zim realized the odd reason for his awakening and felt dazed.

..."What?" Zim voiced his thoughts, groaning softly, from tiredness and a sore head.

“**INCOMING TRANSMISSION...** And you have been sleeping for ten hours already.” The computer said in it's usually drawled out tone.

Zim winced as his still sensitive antenna slicked to the top of his head. His damaged one remained perked. He rubbed at the base of one and gave a grumble.  
“Who’s calling at this hour?” He asked, glaring upwards as he trudged through the low lighting of his base, towards his main computer to pick up the call. He was already forming the words to give to them in his mind, a growl building from deep inside.  
Or maybe hang them up. It depended.

“The Tallest.” The computer chose that moment to inform him.

“The Tall-EERCH!” Zim wailed in despair as he dashed to the control room, spider-like metal legs carrying him quickly to his destination.


	2. Chapter 2

Zim stood himself in front of the computer and took a breath, one hand straightening out his antenna as the other accepted the call. He let out the breath he was holding, flexing his antennae a bit, then lowering them. He had to look presentable, after all. He WAS going to speak with his leaders. This was step one of... Well, actually, it was more like step one hundred. But this was the beginning! He would answer this call and... Why were they calling? Usually, he was the one that was calling them. In fact, they had NEVER called him. He was always the one dragging up reports for them and calling to give them information about his mission progress, the humans, and the planet itself/what it could be used for. 

Zim pondered it for a moment, hand subconsciously going to his other antenna to fix it. He tensed as he attempted to bend his kinked antenna, but it quickly grew too painful and he stopped. The beginning of a tear in his eye faded away and the screen in front of him lit up. Zim quickly blinked the sign of weakness away and straightened his posture proudly.

**...CALL RECEIVED...**

His Tallest, both standing in front of him and holding bags of popcorn and with unamused expressions plastered on their faces. The look caught the invader off guard for a moment, then he remembered how late he was to answering the call... Dread sank in his stomach as their disapproval became obvious, even to Zim of all Irkens.

“Took him long enough." Purple complained. "That took a long time, Zim!” Purple said, the first sentence fragment being directed to Red, while the latter he said whilst looking to Zim in an accusatory way. He grouched softly and continued eating, albeit at a slower pace from before.

Zim gulped and looked downwards in respect, antennae quickly slicking to the top of his head. “I-I apologize my Tallest, I was just-“

Red seethed slightly to the grating voice of the failure of an invader, before he interjected and cut him off, claws twitching in agitation. 

“There are no excuses to ignore a call from your Tallest.” His face showed annoyance, with a tone of condescension. Of course he could be condescending. He WAS one of the Tallest.. Zim’s antennae drooped further unconsciously, his pride taking another pummeling from the harsh, but true words. He had not meant to ignore them.  
Red stared for a moment longer before hissing something under his breath, then glaring at the pipsqueak invader.

“You’re lucky we-”

“I’m sorry, my Tallest.” Zim apologized without thinking. It took a few seconds before he realized his mistake. 

“Shut up!” Red growled, glaring at him. Zim didn’t understand- It was a simple mistake, was it not?...

_Of many..._

Zim squinted and growled softly to himself, tempted to hit his stupid PAK for the intrusive thought. His claws itched to. Zim clutched his hands into fists and fought the urge. Why... It was always like this. He couldn't act in such a WAY in front of his leaders! Frustration at himself was building quickly and he sought a release.

The voice of his Tallest pulled him out of his stupor, making him look up to the screen again, hands curled into fists at his sides, lingering anger making his thoughts a bit fuzzy.  
“Now you may be wondering why we called you today, Zim.” Red’s gaze narrowed at the feeling of the name in his mouth. Soon.

“Yeah, why we called you _ZIM_.” Purple’s disgust was a bit more pronounced than Red's was. Zim didn’t understand. He doesn’t understand. Why were they calling him and being so rude? He hadn’t called them in months- Perhaps they were infuriated with his lack of reports- He HAD been slacking on thinking of evil plans and hadn’t wanted to pester them with such knowledge. Knowledge that would make Zim look bad. Worse than he already did, given his reputation which he desperately sought to redeem.

“Now listen closely. We’ve been thinking about this for a while.” Red gestured with a solitary claw to himself and Purple.

Zim nodded, looking up to them even from lightyears away. He felt like he was a mere smeet again under their intense scrutiny. Their glares bore into his painfully. They were upset with him, and he didn't know why. Or, maybe he did. But he didn't want to know, he... There were so many things that they could be calling about. Perhaps it was something, good?... But then why did their eyes look like-.

“And we are going to share some exclusive details with you. Details about your... Uh, _mission_.” Red used air quotes for this, a scowl beginning to become more apparent in his features. 

“Yes? Details for Zim?” The invader asked, eyes big and wide. 

“_Yes, details for Zim_.” Red mimicked, though he wasn’t able to really replicate the pesky “invader”’s voice. His Tallest cleared their throat, looking off of the screen for a moment before looking back at Zim.

“After this call ends the Massive will be cutting off all communications to and from Urth.” Red began, the scowl fading into something of... A grin? How could he grin at this?

“Why, Sirs?!” Zim blurted. Was he in danger..? Why would they do that? It made no sense- How could he report to them...?  
How would he... Order more snacks?! Zim shoved the thought away as he bit his lip and awaited explanations, gripping the edges of his tunic in worry.

“We don’t want to talk to you!” Purple explained this one, passing the bag of mini-donuts over to Red, who gladly took them and munched on a few. He finished the mush that was in his mouth before continuing. “Your reports are so annoying. We have much better things to do.”  
“We really do.” Red emphasized through munches, still grinning eye to eye. Perhaps they were really good snacks, then. 

“But-”

“You’re always bothering us with your stupid plots. They don’t even deal with sock puppets!” He threw up his claws in protest before growling slightly at the thought. A report that didn’t have a sock puppet show.”

“I-”

“We don’t want to hear from you, Zim. Not anymore. NOT ANYMORE.” He seethed, mind falling back on all the numerous calls Zim had made on his short time on Urth. It hadn’t even been one Irken year, he gave way too many reports, none of them necessarily being good for the empire, not in one single way.  
Zim’s grating voice was the cherry on the pie of terribleness. How he would occasionally call and chant their titles over and over and over again. 

“I’m just going to say it.” Purple said, glaring hard at the screen, at Zim. “**Your. Mission. Isn’t. Real.**” His tone demanded authority. Authority Zim would give despite his thoughts racing.

Dread sank in his chest at the words. He could feel everything breaking around him, inside of him as well. “My Tallest?” Zim asked them, at a loss. The words had been so real, so loud. So... Confusing? How could his mission be a fraud? He was there, he had a base...  
Had that battle mech meant _NOTHING_?!...

“W-what do you mean...? Zim is confused...” His antennae stayed parallel to his head. Maybe it was a joke. The Tallest joked sometimes, right? This was just... A joke.

The wannabe invader felt stuck in his spot, cowering beneath the bright lights of the screen in his darkened lab. 

“We sent you to some random backwater planet to get rid of you!” Red jeered.  
“Why don’t you get it, Zim?” Purple asked, antenna pointed downwards at Zim, who was beneath him. More so than ever before, standing in his dark lab fresh of troubled dreams and a blank mind of ideas. 

“You’ve ruined so much. You’ve _KILLED_ so many. Not even enemies! Of your own kind!!!” Red glared, his ruby red eyes glinting in ferocity that Zim had not seen in anyone before, outside of Sizzlorr.  
“Two TALLEST are dead because of you, Zim. Because of _YOU_.” His rage tumbled out through his words, Zim could have sworn his Tallest’s PAK was steaming. It wasn’t, not really. His could feel himself shaking a bit and steadied himself by grabbing onto the edge of the control panel. He couldn’t... He couldn’t be weak, not in front of his Tallest! 

“It wasn’t my fault-”

“YES IT WAS!” The two of his furious leaders shouted at the exact same time, causing the invader to take a step back, eyes widening further still. 

“No, Zim checked.. Zim... Zim...” His voice cracked and faltered, he trailed off. More dread piled on and he felt like the air was pressing in on him tightly.  
He let out a trembling breath as panic began to build. He knew it was his fault. He hadn’t meant to but he did it- Now everything was ruined. Two Tallest dead! ARGH! It was all his fault. He was the one who... Who ruined it all... No good Irken.  
Why did he do that?! SO STUPID! He knew it was stupid! Zim wanted to hit himself for it all over again!!!...

Though the Tallest were already doing that, albeit verbally. It hurt just as bad, if not worse. 

“It’s a miracle we’re still alive, right, Red?!” He jeered, looking to his counterpart, who nodded and gave Zim a smug look. “How lucky of us. It was so easy to get rid of the _defect_.” Red spat the words and relished in Zim’s confused look.

“Defective..?” Zim, defective? No, no. That didn’t make sense. Surely another baseless insult!... Why were they insulting Zim so? He worked very hard to impress them- none of it ever worked- and he had even made them a sandwich one time. A very tall sandwich!... That had infuriated them.  
“Yes, Zim. Defective. That’s what you are.” Purple said, glaring at the defective. “And you’re not even a real invader! You’re supposed to be a fry cook!” 

Zim glanced down at himself and shook his head. “NO!” He shouted, eyes closed tightly. No! No. He was an invader, the best of all invaders. He knew that, in his PAK. He was... Encoded as... A fry cook. He deflated immediately upon realizing they were correct.  
But he didn’t _feel_ like a fry cook. Invader’s blood marched through his veins!...

“DO NOT RAISE YOUR VOICE AT US, DEFECT!” Red shouted at him, another growl escaping his throat, which developed into a furious hiss.

“You’re just a short, terrible, defective fry cook. Your mission’s a lie. Get over it.” Red wanted to finish this up quickly now, before Zim did anything else terrible.

“N-no...” Zim stammered, voice lowered considerably. He was beginning to visibly shake, his vision growing blurred.  
“Are you really crying? You really are a disgrace.” The words cut deep and stung with their _poison._.. 

“I apologize, my T-tallest... Please, give Zim another chance.” He pathetically showed one claw, one trembling, sad claw, for emphasis. 

“You’ve had many chances, Zim. _Too many chances..._” At what cost? Countless Irken lives, gone. Decades and decades of work. Blown up and destroyed. Chaos, and even a distress ping from Foodcourtia. Caused by... More Zim destruction. It always was. Zim really was the root of all of their problems... 

Red sighed softly at the now bawling Invader. How pathetic. They really were a defective Irken... It explained it all. His stupidly short height, how he ruined everything. There was no other explanation. Even the re-encoder had been confused by Zim’s PAK, all those years ago. 

“Pleas-”

“I’m hanging up now. Goodbye, Zim.” Purple said, claw itching towards the hang up button as he looked to Red for approval. He nodded, gaze remaining on Zim, expression neutral.

“WAI-”

This time he was cut off by the screen being overtaken by static. He was left alone, in the dark, tears rolling down his face. The eerie coolness of his lab no longer feeling comforting. Not that it ever had, but it usually meant evil schemes. Calls with his leaders to boast his newest achievements.  
But now the feeling left him itchy, like something was crawling beneath his skin. He felt watched. Zim whipped his head around towards the doorway. A rectangle of light greeted him, but nothing else. 

A shaky breath pushed its way out of Zim’s diaphragm. He could still feel the dampness underneath of his eyes, the pathetic feeling of cries in his throat. Itchy, suffocating. His leaders had hung up, but he could still feel the miserable feeling of hopelessness lingering over him. It sank down on him, now more so. Something about... Could he...

“COMPUTER!” Zim yelled, forcing his way through the block seemingly in his throat. 

“Whhhaaat?” The automated voice asked, annoyed with the constant pestering of the failure of an invader. Failure of a fry cook. General failure and defect. Ah how the compute relished the knowledge that Zim, above all, meant nothing to the Irkens. How annoying it was that he lived in the walls of his house. 

“C-... Call the Tallest.” Zim said, coughing up something and grumbling to himself about it while awaiting a response. His throat felt all scratchy- Stupid... Tears... Invaders don’t cry. Especially not the greatest one of them all. Maybe after he called the Tallest to clear this up, he could go blow something up...

“Communications OFFLINE.” The computer said after a moment. 

Zim stood, struck with another wave of emotions that overran his PAK. Why! Why did... He couldn’t... Could he fix it? Rig up another satellite..?

Zim choked out some words, but they were indecipherable by the computer. So he didn’t respond.  
How could his communications be offline, other than the fact that his Tallest weren’t bluffing when they threatened it? Did they... They really didn’t want to hear from Zim... Ever again...

He shouldn’t call... Even if he COULD build a strong enough dish, there was no telling how long it would take. And he would need to order supplies for it, most likely... Which required communications to be up...  
Zim couldn’t shove away this feeling of fluttering in his chest. He started sweating, a twisty feeling spinning in his guts. His breathing got quicker. He c-couldn’t see... 

The invader stumbled for something to hold onto. He found nothing but his face slamming into the floor. Pain filled his thoughts once more, his PAK feeling hot. Overheated, for sure. His thoughts were scrambled now, more than before. He couldn’t... What... What was Zim to do?... He was alone... Alone...

His breath caught in his throat and he choked it down with a little whimper, that turned into a sob. Zim inwardly cursed at himself, for being so weak, for acting so... So... _defective_.

Tears continued flowing down his face no matter how hard he opposed it and fought it. Tried to argue that he wasn’t this and wasn’t that, he was an Invader...  
But, the pieces fell together nicely in his mind. If he WAS Defective... Then it meant... It wasn’t his fault, after all...  
Yes, it wasn’t Zim’s fault... His little breaths evened out slightly after a few minutes of sobbing pathetically on his lab floor. Rationalizing would save him from the fate of melting on the floor, he supposed. The itchy feeling of failure still lingered. As it had for his entire life up from smeethood.

When he stood, the world lurched. In more ways than one.

Zim felt overly aware of his height. So short he stood, how small he felt. His claws trembled as he walked back the way he had come. On his march back to his Sleeping Chamber, he couldn’t help but note how... _quiet_ his lab was. That wasn’t right... Or had it always been this quiet? How had he not noticed how unsettling it was?

He shuddered once he realized that he knew why it was quiet. Or, rather, what was missing...

Where was GIR?...

The thought would usually be a concern to the invader. And it was, but for different reasons today. It wasn’t of GIR blowing up his latest plan. It was more of a general concern for the robot. And a need for companionship that didn’t hate his Irken guts... Computer... Zim seethed at the thought. He would have to uninstall them. There was no point to having them anymore...

...But what if his Tallest forgave him and called back...? Zim sighed.

He was better safe than sorry to keep the computer intact, then...

Zim looked away from his sleeping chamber and rubbed his eyes. He still felt groggy and weak. He could use something to eat anyways... 

The defective stood in front of the elevator, thoughts racing. The doors stood tall in front of him, again reminding him of his inferiority. His heart felt like it was in his throat again. A small breath was given before he stepped into the elevator and mashed the button in... Not anger, but he still felt the remnants of emotions threatening to restrict his movements again, if he didn’t act quickly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a

Zim stepped out of the elevator and a level of stress fell off of his shoulders. It felt slightly easier to breath, but for some reason this had seemingly the opposite effect on his mood. He could feel the tightness in his chest worsening. Why?... He was supposed to feel better, outside of the confines of his lab... Zim sighed heavily, slouching slightly and abandoning his usual good posture. His eyes felt watery again, making him feel like more of a failure. This was just confirmation...

He tried to settle down with a faint grumble. This wasn’t anything to feel about. Zim wasn’t supposed to feel... He would just find GIR, then sit down and watch some TV. It would be easy.

Zim sniffled and coughed harshly, then shook his head. The tears in his eyes faded away as he set his mind to the simple task. He would check in the usual places for his robotic companion first.   
As he entered the kitchen, Zim took a look around, then to the food storage container. Instantly, his anxiety levels spiked. Concerning thoughts raced through his mind. Would he have enough?... How long would his supplies last, when was he _supposed_ to get more...?  
His mind buzzed to a blank, no answer to be found. Zim stared at the fridge unit, then to the pantry and freezer, trying to overcome the mental static that had taken his mind and PAK over for the moment. It was a hard barrier to pass, but the rambunctious managed to shake away the thoughts and train his thoughts. GIR clearly wasn’t here. 

He could brute force his way through this task, then move onto the next. A breeze for the seasoned soldier. Zim stared as the red marching ants appeared once more. Out of the kitchen. Zim straightened his back and marched.

_A real mission..._

Zim hissed and batted at his PAK at the intruding thought, holding his eyes closed tightly for a few moments before letting out a breath. He looked to his set path again. There, clear as day and as red as his eyes. It would never lead him wrong... Thank Irk.

The Irken invader, now content in his mission and intentions, exited the kitchen, still in search of his defective SIR unit.

His eyes trailed along the marching ants and- The path led to and stopped at the couch. Zim could feel his antennae droop at this, his breathing becoming unsure and shaky for a moment.

Of course this was his mission line. It was the only mission HE could complete.

GIR would show up sooner or later... And he still felt too groggy and weak to search for himself...

The invader stared as more tears welled in his eyes. But he didn’t wipe them this time, just stood in the doorway as the red danced in their sight.   
Of course he couldn’t go outside in this state. His feelings regulator must be broken! Yes of course. That is totally a thing that Zim didn’t make up.

It was all his PAK’s fault, he rationalized. And in a way, he was correct. But it wasn’t to be blamed for his extended emotional response. It was no one’s fault but his, and his alone.

With great hesitance, the invader trudged to the couch, all the march in his step extinguished just as quickly as we had willed up the willpower to do so.

The Irken sank into the worn old couch. It had stains, where GIR had spilt their horrible human foods and drinks into the cloth and Zim had failed to notice until it was much too late to remove, however many cleaning products he had tried and mixed (to explosive results).

Zim shifted to be away from a particularly horrid pizza stain, leaning on the armrest of the seat. The slouching was slightly uncomfortable, but he didn’t care. No one did... His back hurt.

Another sigh as he pondered where GIR was. The thought of calling him with his PAK briefly crossed his mind, but Zim showed it away.   
...Maybe he DID need some alone time after all. GIR was loud, and though useful for as a plushie, otherwise he was notoriously destructive and useless. 

Zim stared at the blank television was gradually falling antennae, before beginning to dig his claws into the couch.  
GIR was a good distraction. Something to devote attention and willpower towards that wasn’t... Things that weren’t the overwhelming thoughts swirling around in his head, cluttering his PAK. 

And that was how the invader sat for a very long time. Minutes, hours, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t differentiate. It blurred together in hopeless mopiness. Zim felt... Lost, yes, that was the world. Purposeless, alone, abandoned, kicked to the curb and dust and LEFT. To suffer, to fight, to struggle, to die without anyone to remember any of the glorious deeds of ZIM.

A sound jerked the invader out of his stupor. Zim looked up, finding his vision blurry. _GREAT._ He must have damaged his enhanced vision implants as well. Just great...

Upon blinking Zim realized his blunder. Ah, his eyes were... Leaking...? Ah, that was... Concerning. Zim pushed out a breath as he shakily stood, to investigate the sound. 

CLANK!

The invader squealed and hopped back, ending up with his head landing on couch cushions. 

There, in his full metallic glory, GIR! He was currently pulling his dog suit off and hollering about... Something, some human thing that Zim did not understand. The invader stared, awestruck. How had he shown up so quickly? Without the impeccable invad-... Oh.

That made some sense. Zim could feel the water rising in his eyes again and grit his teeth, blinking away the stupid tears. STUPID... He wasn’t... He wasn’t a weak smeet. Smeets didn’t even cry.  
HOW PATHETIC COULD HE BE?!

“Hrk.” He couldn’t help the sound that escaped him as he fought off the feelings OF DOOM! His throat felt like it was closing. Maybe it was. Maybe these FEELINGS would be the death of him. A pathetic death for a pathetic defective like ZIM.   
The pathetic former invader pulled his legs onto the couch, letting out a heavy breath.

“Master?” An innocent, robotic voice asked him. GIR. Of course. Zim had momentarily... Not acknowledged him.   
Zim looked at GIR through blurry sights. “GIR.” Zim said dryly. Or, at least, he tried to come across like that. His voice was thick with repressed tears, trembling slightly as he began failing to contain the tears in his big pinky red eyes.

GIR tilted his head, optics focused on Zim. “Awh, why’re you so sad?” GIR asked, a metallic smile spreading across his face. His limited emotional and standard processors couldn’t comprehend. Though altered, he had basic knowledge on Invaders. The elites of the military who single-handedly brought planets to their knees!

Though GIR was thinking about slushies. Sucky Monkeys. “Doooo you want a BISCUIT?!” GIR asked, noticing that his master had not replied right away. In fact, his master was acting VERY strangely!   
It was very confusing to the malfunctioning SIR unit.  
“Master? Master? Master?”

“Uuullgh, shut up PLEASE.” Zim barked at him, antennae pressed tightly against his head. GIR didn’t like when Master got this way. His smile turned upside down quickly as he noted that Zim was in a more Zimmy mood than usual.

“Does you need something?” Zim’s robotic companion offered, tilting his head. The invader was pretty sure that he could hear some bolts hitting the inside of GIR’s head as he did this, but didn’t react, simply glancing up at the robot again.

“...Sit with me.” Zim said in a small voice. 

GIR thought the order was confusing. He had never been given something like that before. Usually his orders were ‘sit still and be quiet’, ‘don’t ruin this for me GIR’, ‘keep the base safe’, ‘pay attention’, ‘you’re an idiot’, etc. This, though, was new. 

Something WITH Zim?  
“Ooooookay.” GIR replied, giving a salute and then hopping onto the couch beside the Irken, who looked extra doubly tired today. MAYBE SOME TV WOULD CHEER HIM UP!

GIR reached for the remote, lifting it and aiming it at the TV.

“No.” Zim hissed, smacking the piece of plastic out of GIR’s hand. It clattered to the floor, the batteries rolling out of it. GIR gasped and looked over at Zim, who’s expression looked conflicted and surprise. As if he hadn’t meant to do something but couldn’t admit to his wrong.  
“Why, mastah?” GIR couldn't help but blurt out.

“...I-I need you to be quiet... For a moment.” Zim choked out, voice conflicted. He sighed shakily, before awkwardly putting an arm around GIR.

Zim gave GIR an odd side-hug, closing his buggy eyes tightly as his breathing slowly settled. His robotic companion did not react to the contact. Maybe it would be alright then, GIR wouldn’t do anything to ruin the moment.

“..AWH! Mastah, you could just ask me for a hug. I knows how to take care of babies! I ate one one time!” GIR chimed loudly, nearly blasting out Zim’s hearing, what with how close he was. The closest he had been to GIR. The closest his antennae had ever been, at least. 

Zim flinched and let out a yelp, beginning to shake. GIR looked at him. His eyes were leaking!   
“Master?” He asked, head tilting again, to an obnoxious degree.

“QUIET!” Zim yelled, eyes screwed shut tightly, his hands held over the bases of his antennae. 

GIR shrunk back slightly, gaze flicking to the ground. “...I’m sorry, okay.” GIR answered. That was an answer Zim would like, GIR thought.

“...Hhhrk..” Zim could feel his mind being pulled in many directions. Lost, he was going to fall. “J-just, stay still... Zim needs...” He didn’t finish the thought as he pulled GIR close and hugged him.

“Awh.. What’s wrong?” GIR asked, this time managing to control his volume. It wasn’t for sure how long that would last, however.

“...Zim needs some quiet, f-first..” The Irken choked out, before giving a pathetic sound. Not an Invader sound, GIR noted internally, though he wasn’t too sure why. 

GIR kept looking around the room as he waited out his quiet sentence. Why Zim was acting like this still confused him. It was probably Mary, GIR thinks.

...

It must have been FOREVER! It felt like that.

GIR went out of resting mode as he heard Zim start to talk in his small, shaking voice. Why was he talking weird?

“Zim, is alone... All... _hrk_ alone... The mission.. My mission, it’s... OVER!” Zim cut himself off with a sniffle. 

GIR did the best thing he could think of, and just pat Zim’s back. The tensing he got in reaction, it was a mixed signal. Was he helping? He didn’t _know_.  
It was very hard to tell what Zim wanted most times. GIR hadn’t ever felt so confused. It made him want to SCREAM.

Lines of code commanded him. But they weren’t always right, were they?... No, they couldn’t be. Zim asked otherwise.

_But..._

...

“Zim is... Zim can’t... Zim _CAN’T_ do anything... I’m.. I’m a failure, GIR, do you get it..?” He asked, voice choked up and remorseful.   
Zim wasn’t sure what he was saying. He needed to speak against the conflicting feelings racing through his chest and PAK. It didn’t hurt to say these words. They weren’t words filled with denial. 

Maybe, maybe he was lying to himself _again_. It did _HURT_...

Zim coughed, the tightness that had been building breaking for a moment before another sob tore out of his throat. Zim latched onto the closest thing. It was his robotic friend again, who had been catatonic for the rest of his time in this hug. It would be okay...   
Zim breathed out slowly, trying to reassure himself.

But it really wouldn’t be okay.

His Tallest really, truly and actually did that to him. HIM, ZIM, who was to be the greatest invader of all IRKEN TIME!...  
But he was a stupid DEFECTIVE. It... It didn’t, he didn’t feel like it was true.

...Sure, his PAK gave him a lot of troubles and hindrances where it helped the other Irkens strive, sure it HURT...  
But that was just...  
Just an obstacle.

...

He couldn’t overcome it, though. He was... A failure.

Zim sighed softly.

...

_He couldn’t just sit here anymore. He was restless. He wanted to move. The fire ants were going to get him and then he couldn’t talk to Mr. Piggington anymore!!!_  
Panic locked up the bot for a moment before he let out an _EARSPLITTING_ screech. Zim shouted and instantly let go, using shaky PAK legs to boost himself in the opposite direction. He landed on the other side of the couch and looked up with wide eyes, startled out of his mind.

“AAAHAHA! THE ANTS! THE ANTS! ANTS! I NEEDS!” GIR babbled nonsense, standing on the couch and starting to spin.

He stopped spinning and looked over at Zim, before a smile spread across his face. “ZAMS!” He ran towards Zim, a scream building in his throat and growing louder and louder.

Zim screamed back in terror, ANGER. He let down his GUARD for ONE second around his PARTNER. And this?! THIS WAS THE THANKS ZIM GOT?!

Everything happened so fast. The flash of light, the explosion, the clank, the thud.

Zim stared down at the metally corpse of GIR.

No, not a corpse. He could be fixed. Easily. 

But, Zim...?  
Zim, was a different story with a different ending.

He fell to the ground and _cried_, cried until he couldn’t breathe and then some more, his PAK legs forming a protective shield around him.

His voice finally faltered and he just sniffled pathetically, the blasted robot lying beside him finally being quiet.


End file.
